


Compromised

by heeroluva



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Banter, Bittersweet, Identity Reveal, M/M, Magical Accidents, Soul Bond, Telepathic Bond, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-07-23 23:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20016679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva
Summary: “Don’t!” A voice shouts behind Dorian, strong fingers closing around his wrist, attempting to yank him back, but it’s too late.





	Compromised

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rhovanel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhovanel/gifts).



Dorian yelps as he’s quite literally thrown through the door, colliding with Solas who was shoved in first and sending them both to the floor, Dorian sprawling inelegantly on top of him.

Solas immediately shoves at him, growling, “Get off me, you fool.”

The action hinders Dorian’s attempt to push himself up, finding his robe snagged beneath first Solas’ elbow then a heel. “Will you please desist?” Dorian snaps, somewhat shocked when Solas immediately stills. Wrenching his robe free, he finally manages to stand, brushing himself off as he looks around the room. The door that they’d come through has vanished completely, the wall now as smooth and featureless as the other four. “Well this is wonderful, isn’t it?” Dorian sneers at Solas as he stands. “If you’d kept your mouth—”

“Need I remind you whose fault it is we were caught?”

“You were the one who wandered off in the middle of the night.”

“And it was you who decided to follow.”

“Well pardon me for worrying. Next time consult with a rogue on stealth if you wish to leave _unheard_. I’m surprised you didn’t wake the entire camp.”

“It was you who shouted.”

“After you brought the tent down on top of me.”

“Enough of that. What’s done is done. We are here now, and arguing isn’t going to get us out of here. Let’s see if we can find a way out.”

Dorian scoffs as Solas immediately turns his back and stalks off to the furthest corner from him and begins to examine the wall. Dorian turns and does the same, uncertain what he’s looking for. When he finds nothing, he decides to try something else, quickly learning that the walls are warded when his fireball is reflected back at him. He barely dodges it, shouting “Duck!” when he sees it heading straight towards Solas.

Solas does so immediately, the fireball impacting scant inches above him, bouncing off again before it finally dissipates. Solas glowers as he stands. “Did you really think a fireball was going to get us out of here?”

“Wouldn’t know unless we tried now would we?”

“If you’d asked—”

“Because clearly you’re so happy to speak with me, sulking in the corner as you give me the silent treatment.”

“You are right. I am sorry. I just do not—” Solas breaks off, looking away, looking strangely vulnerable for a split second before he composes himself. “I am not fond of being confined.”

Dorian glances around the room, thinking that it was sizeable enough, but he does not belittle the elf for his fear. “Tell me what you know of this place.”

“The motifs I saw outside indicate that this is likely a shrine to Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper, the Evanuris known by the Daelish as the goddess of all the domestic arts.”

“Domestic arts?”

“Legend says she gifted the elves with fire, taught them cooking, sewing and gardening. Taught them how to heal, how to ease childbirth. She’s also named in the Daelish marriage vows.”

Dorian knows that there is more to it, having heard him discuss Daelish customs with Lavellan many times now. “But?” Dorian prompts.

Solas’ eyes snap to his face. “The Fade does not paint her so benevolently. Yes, she taught many, but those unworthy in her eyes were nothing more than kindling for her eternal fire. This appears to be but a minor shrine, but the sorrow and pain that lingers here is more than any battlefield I’ve ever visited. The spirits whisper of a matchmaker, a vow breaker, forcing unions at a whim.”

“What a fine crew these Evanuris were,” Dorian says, lips curling in disgust. “Well luckily, I think an unwanted marriage is the least of our worries, do you not?”

Solas makes a sound that could have been either agreement or dissent. “There is something strange about this room. Can you not feel it?”

“Yes, I have felt that something is watching us since we’ve entered, but I feel no ill regard from it.”

“I’m impressed that you are so in tune with spirits.”

“Just because I don’t not befriend them as you do, does not mean that I am without skill.”

Solas sighs and raises his hand is appeasement. “Peace. We gain nothing from squabbling like children.”

Dorian snorts and doesn’t dignify him with a response, doesn’t point out which of them has been childish.

“Come, sleep if you can. I know neither of us got any last night, and the sun was nearly setting when we arrived here. I will take first watch.”

Dorian looks at Solas suspiciously, but now that Solas has mentioned it, the exhaustion that he’s been ignoring refuses to go unnoticed any longer. He’s certain he looks a fright. Dorian sighs in distaste as he looks around. Without a pack or supplies, the stone floor is going to be less than comfortable to sleep on, but he has little choice. Wedging himself into a corner, Dorian watches as Solas continues to wander around, hands tracing across the walls before his head lolls and his eyes fall shut.

A strange grinding of stone against stone, startles Dorian awake. His eyes dart first to Solas who is sitting nearby, appearing to have nodded off himself. It’s strange seeing him like this. Even though they share a tent, Dorian has never seen him sleep. The grinding suddenly stops, and Dorian’s eyes are drawn to the ceiling at the center of the chamber, a square opening having appeared from which an odd glowing, pink orb slowly floats down, pausing several feel above the ground.

Pushing himself to his feet, Dorian groans as his joints pops and takes a moment to stretch before he moves forward, curious to examine it. The glow seems to increase the closer he gets. He tries to stop, wants to stop, but he finds that he cannot, his body continuing to move without his input, his hand outstretched, fingers reaching. His blood races as he tries to fight it, and he curses viciously. 

“Don’t!” A voice shouts behind Dorian, strong fingers closing around his wrist, attempting to yank him back, but it’s too late.

They both scream when Dorian’s hand reaches the sphere, pushing through it, instead of finding a solid mass, before it leaps first into Dorian, then into Solas, and back and forth again and again. If they hadn’t both fallen to their knees, eyes clenched shut in agony, they might have thought it was a beautiful sight.

Dorian’s world explodes, and he can’t even curse as his brain overloads with information, as Solas’—Fen’Harel’s—life plays out before his eyes. The past, the endless wars, the blood, death, suffering, the struggle, trying to save his people from themselves. Then the present, his sorrow, his hate, his plan to—“NO!” Dorian’s eyes snap open as he shouts, shoving a clearly distraught Solas back against the floor, catching his wrists as he straddles his body.

Dorian pants as he struggles to think, struggles to find himself under the weight of an eternity of memories not his own, under the newfound knowledge that the very foundation of his knowledge, his education, his history is wrong. “We aren’t even people to you, are we?” Dorian forces out, his throat rough, scratchy, his face wet from tears he doesn’t remember shedding.

Solas meets his eyes unflinching. “For a time, that was true, but I know better now, thanks to the Inquisition, thanks to you.” A small smile, more of a grimace really, sad and bitter twists his lips. “Even so, I still would have done what was required of me. But there was no worse trap for me to fall into than this.”

Solas’ arm twists beneath Dorian’s hand, and Dorian’s eyes are immediately drawn to the strange twining markings that encircle Solas’ wrist, markings that he’s certain weren’t there before, that are reminiscent of some vallaslin that he’s seen. His other wrist and neck are similarly marked. A quick glance at his own wrist causes him to start, the same marks now surrounding it, and he jerks his hands up, examine the design, probing at it with his magic, drawing a gasp from them both. “Explain what this is,” Dorian demand, even though he can already see it in Solas’ mind, needing the words.

Solas’ smile is sharp, knowing, pitying even. “Our souls have been bound, fused into one, two bodies sharing one soul. Everything that is mine is now yours, and all that you are is now mine, never to be separated again.”

Dorian laughs, an unpleasant sound, as he lets himself fall to the side, rolling onto his back. He hides his face with his arm as he falls apart. It could have been worse, he supposes. It could have been a woman. Solas isn’t unattractive, and at least he appears to like men and women equally if what Dorian’s seen of his memories is any indication of preference.

It’s that Dorian is a human that he is certain will be an issue, and his chest aches as he imagines Solas’ looking at him with hatred. How lovely this spell is, already messing with his heart and his head. Imagining his father’s reaction at least brings a small smile to his lips.

Solas’ hand pulls Dorian’s arm away from his face, and Dorian sits up beside Solas’ kneeling form. “I could never hate you.”

“Because of this spell,” Dorian says bitterly.

“No, because you are not blind to the wrongs of this world, because you’re willing to learn, to change, to grow.”

Dorian can scarcely believe his ears. The sudden urge to kiss him is nearly all-encompassing, and Dorian doesn’t know if Solas can hear his thoughts, but his eyes dilate suddenly, and Dorian gives in, leaning forward as he pulls Solas down with a kiss, fingers curling around the smoothness of his bare head. If this was to be his wedding, he was going to damn well enjoy it. Dorian is far from a novice, but he’s swept away by the kiss, the slide of Solas’ mouth and tongue against his, the taste and scent of him.

When they pull back, it’s with great reluctance, and they’re both breathing hard. Well at least they seem compatible in this regard. Finally Dorian can’t help but ask, “What happens now?”

Solas appears startled by the question, his brows coming together as he frowns. “As much as it pains me to admit, I am uncertain. Sylaise was ingenious, binding political rivals so that they had no choice but to compromise. Please, you must understand, that I can’t leave my people as they are. They don’t deserve this half-life.”

“And my people deserve to burn, so that yours may rise again?” Dorian bites out. Dorian’s suddenly exhausted, and he’s not certain if it’s his own or Solas’, but the disappointment comes from them both.

A doorway suddenly materializes in one of the walls, and in a flash Solas is on his feet and through it, leaving Dorian to follow behind with a shout of frustration.

Dorian sighs heavily as he prepares himself for the fight that he’s sure is waiting for them, filled with a disappointed certainty that the coming days aren’t going to be the fun honeymoon that he’s always imagined.


End file.
